


Watch the Devil Dance

by rhealoveless



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Trans Character, mostly just feuilly feels because feuilly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhealoveless/pseuds/rhealoveless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly has worked too hard to let anything stop him at this point. aka another college au featuring hella aro/ace characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Feuilly never thought it would be easy. Honestly, he never thought anything would be easy. Everything turned out just a little bit harder, it seemed, when he tried it.

And, hell, he’d worked for it long enough that you'd think the results would be simple--but honestly, that was part of the problem.

He had been living on his own for five years, now. A year just to save up enough that he could make his rent and utilities on time. Another year to find a job that offered health insurance that would cover transitioning. Three years of living on ramen and hot sauce and heat turned as low as he could stand it, and he could finally afford to go to school, to apply for financial aid and manage to make all his ends meet.

Five years of living on his own, and now he was twenty three, used to taking care of himself, and now he was in Orientation with all of these--well, not quite children, that would be unfair. But these people who had never lived away from home, never filed taxes, never worked (okay, some had worked, but not nearly all).

 

Feuilly was in a double, for example, but had arrived before his roommate, so he left the door propped open (friendly! He is going to be friendly, he is going to make friends, not the acquaintances he worked with or the kids he got high with or the foster kids he coexisted with. Actual, genuine friends). He was still unpacking when some boy he was pretty sure lived on his floor stuck his head in the door.

“Hey, do you know where we’re supposed to be?” he asked.

“What?” Feuilly asked, glancing up and frowning.

“You know--what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Um,” Feuilly said, and shrugged. “Whatever you want to be doing?”

“Oh, so like, this is free time?”

Feuilly stared at him for a long moment, before he slowly said, “This is your home, where you live. Not some...summer camp.”

The kid looked genuinely surprised.

Feuilly sighed, and turned to drag his so-far unopened box of books off of his bed. “Here, come in. What’s your name?”

“Marius,” the kid answered. “Marius Pontmercy.”

Feuilly gestured to the bed, and Marius sat down on it, bouncing up and down slightly, though Feuilly couldn’t tell if it was because he was nervous or excited. Marius reminded him of an overgrown puppy.

“A pleasure to meet you, Marius Pontmercy,” Feuilly said, going back to folding his clothes. “I’m Feuilly.”

“Feuilly who?” Marius asked.

“Feuilly-who-must-not-be-named.”

Marius laughed delightedly. “I love Harry Potter,” he said happily.

“Yeah?” Feuilly asked, smiling at the unbridled enthusiasm that was Marius Pontmercy. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Snape,” he answered instantly. “He’s such a complex character. I wish someone would love me the way he loved Lily.”

Well, shit. So much for making friends with cheerful first years. So much for expecting better of ivy league students. Then again, he could just keep his mouth shut--he doubted that the wide-eyed kid (who had started rocking back and forth unconsciously) would ever hurt anybody intentionally. After all, not keeping his mouth shut was the reason he’d done so well at friends before now.

“Snape?” came an incredulous voice from the hallway. “Oh my god, there are so many things wrong with that, I can’t even--no, I have to, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

A tiny girl made entirely of passion and fury came marching into Feuilly’s room. It looked like she had cut her hair off by herself, possibly using only garden shears, then dyed it dark purple. Her leather pants were shoved into combat boots, and her denim jacket was covered in messy embroidery, the largest and most obvious reading ‘TRANSPHOBES CAN SUCK MY DICK,’ surrounded by what appeared to be sunflowers.

Marius was terrified.

 

Feuilly stayed silent throughout the girl’s lecture on the perils of a belief in the friendzone, though he started putting his books onto shelves around the time she started explaining rape culture. Marius hadn’t said a word yet. The girl was only a few inches in front of him, short enough that her face was very close to his. Marius looked very much like he would rather be anywhere else. Feuilly wondered briefly if he should rescue Marius, but decided that the kid honestly kind of deserved it.

When the girl stopped for breath, Marius squeaked out a tiny “I’msorryIdidn’tknow.”

“Now you do,” Feuilly said finally, ignoring the girl whipping around to look at him suspiciously. “So now you know better and won’t do it again. And now you’ll know to call people out on it.”

“So you think that if someone knows better, they should call others out on it?” the girl asked, raising her eyebrows.

“If they don’t, nothing will change,” Feuilly said.

“So why didn’t you call him out?” she asked.

“Because you swooped in before I could.”

“Yeah?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning back, almost sitting on the terrified Marius.

Feuilly raised his eyebrows, and shrugged. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “I like your jacket.”

“I like your mug,” she answered, nodding at his shelf, where he had put his mug emblazoned with the trans flag.

“I like your hair,” he countered, smiling slightly.

“I like your face.”

Feuilly laughed, then realized this probably constituted as flirting. “I’m not straight.”

“Neither am I. No worries, sweetcheeks.”

“Do you live on this floor?”

“Yeah,” she answered, “Across the hall. You’re gonna have to deal with this face first thing in the morning.”

“I’m sure you won’t be the worst,” he says.

“Mm, we’ll see. Are you an upperclassman?”

Feuilly shifted uncomfortably. “Why?” he asked.

The girl shrugged. “Seem older than babyface over there.”

“Hey,” Marius said, making both of them turn around. He was blushing slightly. “I’m not that young. I turn eighteen in a month.”

“A pinnacle of experience,” Feuilly agreed. “And no. I’m a first year. Feuilly.”

“Gesundheit.”

“No, my name’s Feuilly.”

“You French?” the girl asked.

“Only, like, a quarter. What’s your name?”

“Eponine,” she answered.

“That there’s Marius Pontmercy,” Feuilly added, gesturing to the bed.

“Just call me Marius,” he said quickly.

“Well, now I won’t,” Eponine answered, “Nice going, Pontmercy.”

“Yeah, well--what’s your last name?”

“Eponine,” Eponine answered.

Marius blinked blankly. “Oh. What’s your first name?”

“Eponine.”

“Your name is Eponine Eponine?”

“Ohh, you mean my title?” Eponine asked. “I’m Eponine the Great. Nice to meet you.”

“No, that’s not what I meant…” Marius said, looking lost.

“Sucks. Anyway, I’ll catch you later--Pontmercy, Feuilly.”

“See you around,” Feuilly answered.

“Bye, the Great,” Marius said, grinning triumphantly. Eponine just winked at him, though, on her way out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Feuilly ate all his meals alone, that first week. It didn’t bother him, not one bit, he was totally used to it. He didn’t wish that anyone would come up to him. He didn’t wish that he was brave enough to go up to someone else. He didn’t pick at his food and regret coming to college. Not at all, not once--college had been his plan for so long, he couldn’t be unhappy there.

Honestly, he knew that he was lonely and a bit scared, but he was afraid of what might happen if he admitted it to himself. Anyway, it was his own fault if he was lonely, since nobody else was responsible for him.

 

His roommate was okay, after all, and probably wanted to be friends (Courfeyrac, was actually a little bit hard to read sometimes--Feuilly couldn’t tell if he was genuinely that happy to see Feuilly, or just pretending to be so that he didn’t hurt his feelings). And Marius and Eponine had been friendly that first day, and he had met some other people in his classes. It wasn’t like he never talked to anyone. It’s just that no one wanted to talk to him twice.

And he knew it would help if he joined a club, but as it was, after he got out of class he nearly had to run to get to his job, and then after that was over he was ready to collapse on his bed, but he still had to write two papers and do a pset and study for the exam--

But he wasn’t complaining. He loved it, absolutely loved it, loved being overworked and friendless and tired all the time.

 

The second week, he decided that he had to change something. As dedicated as he was, as willing to sacrifice to make things work out as he was, he knew he couldn’t keep it up. So he started looking for a club that wouldn’t take that much time and energy.

He tried art club first, since it seemed like it would be interesting and maybe relaxing, but the first time he walked in they told him that he had to buy these $50 paint sets and he walked out again.

He went to the MOGII activism group on campus next, but after ten minutes of white, cis, gay men talking he was about ready to explode. True, black people were a minority on campus, but that he was the only one in that group of, what, twenty people? Ridiculous.

 

Actually, he was getting tired of that, more than anything else. Everyone was white, everyone was straight, everyone was rich and talking about the care packages their parents sent. He knew there had to be some minority groups on campus, but if there were, they were remarkably good at going unnoticed.

He was so desperate he asked his roommate if he knew anything, since Courfeyrac seemed to know everyone already (and the constant stream of people visiting their room grated on his nerves slightly).

“What kind of club?” Courfeyrac asked as he took of his jacket.

“Something not full of...rich white kids?” Feuilly answered.

Courfeyrac laughed and fell back onto his bed. “I feel you, man.” Courfeyrac was Korean, first generation. “More specifically...?”

“I don’t have a ton of time?”

“Yeah, you’re always out,” Courfeyrac agreed, rolling over to grab a rubber ball of his desk. He started throwing it at the ceiling and catching it. “But, like, what? A sports group?”

“No. I don’t know. Never mind.”

“What?” Courfeyrac asked, and missed the ball, which landed on his chest and rolled onto the floor. “No, no, this is a challenge now. What’re you into? Architecture, right?”

“Yeah, but I do so much of that in class already. I want something different?”

“You into social justice?”

Feuilly hesitated.

“It’s fine if you’re not,” Courfeyrac said quickly, rolling off the bed and searching for the ball. “It’s just that I joined one the other day, and I like it a lot.”

“No rich white kids?” Feuilly asked, with a slight grin.

Courfeyrac laughed, and sat up, holding up the ball triumphantly. “Of course there are. But there’s these two great grad students in charge, and they shut them down pretty quickly.”

“Yeah?” Feuilly asked.

“Come with me--there’s actually a meeting tonight, if you’re free.”

Feuilly had been planning to write a paper that night, though he honestly had a few days of slack, if he was willing to work longer tomorrow. “All right,” Feuilly said. He hoped it would be worth it.

 

It was a good thing Courfeyrac hadn’t mentioned how much the group loved puns, because Feuilly never would have gone. They were called Les Amis de l’ABC. Like, puns in French? Not that Feuilly didn’t love a good pun, but even the sentiment of that was so ridiculous, he wondered how anyone could take them seriously (he later realized that most people didn’t get the pun, which is why they could get away with it).

The benefit of arriving with Courfeyrac is that Feuilly was instantly dragged into the center of the group and introduced to everyone. The drawback of arriving with Courfeyrac is that Feuilly could barely get a word in edgewise.

“Feuilly, come here!” Courfeyrac called. “Guys, this is my roommate, Feuilly. Feuilly, this is Combeferre, Joly, Dominique, Bossuet, Musichetta, Jehan…” Courfeyrac went on, but Feuilly completely lost track.

When Courfeyrac paused for breath, Combeferre asked, mildly, “You’re a first year too, then?”

Feuilly nodded. “And you are…?”

“Sophomore--grad student.”

That meant that Combeferre would be the same age as Feuilly, who couldn’t help but compare them, Combeferre’s easy confidence, undoubtedly vast knowledge, and Feuilly, who was still struggling to make some form of human contact.

“Where’s Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Late,” Combeferre answered, with a fond smile. “You get used to it. I can start the meeting.”

Everybody was immersed in conversation, and didn’t seem to notice Combeferre’s admittedly not very noticeable attempts to get their attention.

“Yo, guys!” Courfeyrac eventually shouted, and the room fell silent.

“Thank you,” Combeferre answered, and opened up his laptop. “So right now our main focus is on the election--we need to get people to vote. If you’re working on some other project for the ABC, continue that, of course. But otherwise, we need someone to make some spam--R?”

A student who was lounging in the corner glanced up from where he was scribbling on a paper. “What?”

“Spam getting people to vote?” Combeferre repeated, and R nodded.

“By when?”

“Next week.”

“Anything for you, boss.”

“Save it for Enjolras,” Combeferre answered, rolling his eyes. At that moment, the door burst open and a whirlwind of backpack and coat and another bag (who needed so many bags??) came in.

“Sorry I’m late,” the person panted, dumping their stuff next to Combeferre. “Where are you?”

“Just started,” Combeferre said, sitting down and pushing his laptop over so that the person could look at it.

“Who’s that?” Feuilly murmured to Courfeyrac.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac answered. “They’re the club president.”

Enjolras launched into a passionate speech about people failing to vote because they thought it wouldn’t matter, their hands braced on the table.

“--and there’s truly no good excuse to not vote.” They finished, and sat down in the chair, spinning back and forth in it.

Feuilly raised his hand.

“Yes, Feuilly?” Combeferre said.

“There are good excuses to not vote,” Feuilly said. Enjolras spun to face him, and frowned. “No, hear me out--a lot of polling places aren’t handicapped accessible. Besides that, some close before people get out of work. A lot of people who work late can’t vote, because they’re working when the polls are open. Or--at least that was true for me, last presidential election.”

Combeferre frowned. “Last presidential election?” he asked, confused.

Oh, right. They thought he was 18, 19 max.

Enjolras waved Combeferre’s question off, and said, “You’re right, of course. How do we fix that?”

“Get employers to give people a day off? Or even, like, an hour,” Feuilly answered instantly. He had tried so hard, four years ago, but his boss had flatly refused, eventually threatening to fire him. It had been better since, when he hadn’t worked such late hours, but he still remembered the frustration.

Enjolras was nodding, and digging through their backpack, eventually pulling out a file bursting with papers. Feuilly saw at least three fall out into the bag, but Enjolras didn’t seem to notice. They flipped open to a seemingly random page and started writing.

“Combeferre, who’s free right now?” Enjolras asked, glancing up without stopping writing.

“I am,” Courfeyrac volunteered.

“Same,” a person who looked, like, twelve, though that might have been from the floral sweater and striped leggings.

“Feuilly?” Combeferre asked. “Your project--you want in?”

“No,” Feuilly said. Enjolras looked up and raised their eyebrows. “No time, sorry.”

“That’s fine,” Combeferre said.

“Find out what major companies in this area aren’t currently letting their employees have time off to vote,” Enjolras said. “Joly, you want disabilities?”

A cheerful kid sitting in the corner raised his eyebrows. “I mean, I don’t want them. That don’t mean I don’t have them.”

“No, I mean, you want to check that all the polling places are accessible?”

“Sure,” he said, raising his cane in a salute.

Enjolras glanced at Combeferre, who nodded, and said, “Break.”

“That’s it?” Feuilly asked Courfeyrac, who laughed.

“No, see, different people are working on different things? So that’s just the main meeting part, but we work on the projects during the meeting, too.”

“Oh, okay,” Feuilly said, and shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t really sure what he should be doing.

Courfeyrac smiled, and said, “Go talk to Enjolras; I’m sure they want to meet you. Yo, Jehan!”

Jehan glanced up, and waved Courfeyrac over. The two ended up bent over a laptop, talking quietly. Most of the people had broken off into smaller groups, though a few worked alone, and a few others had simply left.

Combeferre and Enjolras appeared to be having an important conversation, but Feuilly steeled himself and approached them.

“I thought you started keeping those in a binder,” Combeferre said, gesturing to the notebook.

“I did,” Enjolras answered, swiveling back and forth, “but then I didn’t have time so I put them in there, and then I forgot to take them out. And then there didn’t seem to be much point?”

“I don’t know how you pass your classes,” Combeferre said, shaking his head sadly.

Enjolras grinned, and said, “Very little sleep. Hi--sorry, what was your name again?”

After a long silence, Feuilly realized that Enjolras was talking to him. “Sorry, Feuilly.”

“I don’t think I’ve met you--are you a transfer student? Grad, right?”

Feuilly shifted uncomfortably, and said, “No, I’m a first year.”

“But you voted four years ago?” Enjolras asked.

“Yeah. I--worked for a few years before starting college.”

“Oh, I see. From a poorer family?”

Combeferre looked slightly shocked, and completely obviously kicked Enjolras’s chair.

“Something like that,” Feuilly muttered.

Enjolras frowned at Combeferre, then turned to Feuilly and said, “Sorry, that was--rude?”

“No, it’s okay,” Feuilly said quickly.

Enjolras made a face, then glanced at their notebook and started adding to their notes.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Combeferre said, when it was obvious Enjolras was no longer paying attention. “I hope you come back to meetings--whenever you have time. You don’t have to come to every meeting, obviously, but if you managed even once a week that would be great.”

“I hope to,” Feuilly answered, and smiled. He really liked Combeferre.

Combeferre nodded, and Feuilly turned to go, maybe get a start on his paper, since there didn’t seem to be much for him to do here. As he left, he heard Combeferre say, in a lowered voice, “Enjolras, are you taking your meds?”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Feuilly hated distribution requirements.

He understood the point behind them and all, but he didn’t really care about english or performing arts.

 

And he absolutely hated poli sci.

 

He had thought he would enjoy it, thought that it might make his understanding of history broader, and while he probably wouldn’t end up using it very often, he had thought it would be an interesting class that would fulfill a distribution he wasn’t interested in.

 

Instead, it was a mess of similarly-named essentially-identical theories, dozens of Greek and Roman names he had to know off the top of his head, references to American wars and American allies and--

And he was way too foreign for that shit.

 

He hadn’t made any friends in the class, either, as it was a large lecture that he didn’t know anybody in, so he couldn’t just ask a friendly classmate to explain.

Also, somehow, the first midterm was next week. He still didn’t understand the difference between realism and neorealism, let alone being able to synthesize in liberalism (and also in neoliberalism) and in constructivism (neoconstructivism? Why not just add neo- to the front of EVERY theory? What’s stopping them?).

To add insult to injury, none of his classmates seemed concerned about any of this. They all nodded along, hell, some of them even participated in class. Feuilly tried asking the TA for help once, but the kid (who was at least three years younger than Feuilly) just rattled off definitions with such assurance that Feuilly was afraid to do anything but nod understanding.

 

He started staying up later and later, bringing all his books with him to the library and setting them up in stacks around him, reading the same chapters over and over in the hopes that one of them would suddenly make sense.

None of them did.

 

He woke up at 8 every morning, with just enough time to shower before he had to go to his first class (he had long since given up on breakfast). On Mondays and Thursdays he sat, half asleep, through english, then to calculus. He liked calculus, but even that class was drawing thin. He nearly fell asleep in it three classes in a row. He was good at math, but not good enough to sleep through class.

On Tuesdays and Fridays he went to his architecture class first, and he loved that one. He was good at it, too, and didn’t have to worry so much about the work and exams--at least until the one week, maybe a month in, when he got so little sleep that he skipped two classes in a row.

He had been behind in architecture for the past two weeks, now, and didn’t seem to be catching up. And then, of course, those afternoons he had political science, which made him want to smash his head against a wall and burn his textbook.

 

Every afternoon, right after lunch, he went to his job in the library and helped clueless patrons and reshelved books until 7 or 8pm. He ate dinner, then went back to the library, to keep up with most of his work, and try to catch up on the rest.

 

Honestly? He wasn’t sure this was worth it. He barely managed to drag himself out of bed. He skipped breakfast, and half of his dinners, too, just for the extra time. He broke out in a rash from all the stress, and had to punch two new holes in his belts to keep them from slipping off his hips.

 

He kept on going to the ABC meetings, but he was really too tired to make an effort to be social, and definitely didn’t have time to actually help the group any. He sometimes waved at the other members around campus, but he wouldn’t call them friends.

Not that it mattered much, anymore. He was up late even without procrastinating or having fun with friends. He didn’t have time to do any of that stuff.

 

Courfeyrac stayed up late, too, which was good because Feuilly really didn’t want to constantly wake him up. On one day, when Feuilly finally came home and the sun was already beginning to tinge the sky a faint pink, and Courfeyrac woke up when Feuilly came in. He made some indistinct noises under the covers, then seemed to go back to sleep.

Feuilly ignored him.

That evening, when he came home to pick up his things to study, right after dinner, he came in to find that there was a group of people perched on the various furniture. He was too tired to recognize them at first, but after a moment he realized that Courfeyrac and Marius were on the bed, Enjolras and Combeferre at their two desk chairs, and Jehan was perched on top of the dresser.

They all looked up when he came in.

Nobody said anything, and Feuilly tried to remember if there was some sort of formality he was forgetting? They were all looking at him. He was so tired, oh god, he was supposed to say something, wasn’t he.

He almost greeted them in Polish, but realized it last moment and quickly said “Hello” instead.

There was a long pause, then Combeferre said, “Sorry, what?”

Feuilly blinked. Oh, shit. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had said, honestly, but given that he was pretty sure it wasn’t Polish, and also now pretty sure it wasn’t English, his best guess was some pidgin version of Rromani.

“Hi,” he said, this time focusing long enough to be absolutely sure he was speaking clearly, and in English.

“Are you okay?” Combeferre asked.

“Yeah,” Feuilly said, and smiled as cheerfully as he could. “Just distracted, sorry.”

“He only got two hours of sleep last night,” Courfeyrac said.

“I had a paper,” Feuilly answered, and rubbed a palm against his eye. “Anyway, I have to go. Nice seeing you all.”

“No,” Courfeyrac answered, getting up and standing between Feuilly and the door. “This is an intervention.”

“Leave me alone,” Feuilly said, glaring first at Courfeyrac, then at the others. He started jamming his books into his bag.

“We’re just worried about you,” Combeferre said softly.

“I can take care of myself,” Feuilly snapped, and shoved Courfeyrac out of his way. The door slowly fell shut behind him. He was halfway down the hall when he finally heard it latch.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowow sorry for the long break/short update D: I've been super busy with classes/finals/mental stuff
> 
> Actually have a shitton of stuff to mention here so like skip if you feel like it:
> 
> Thanks to Kay for betaing!  
> I took poli sci last semester and tbh I liked it BUT all the theories sound the same it's terrible. I feel, Feuilly. I feel.  
> I actually know where this is going now!! Like 83%!! Yay! That means that updates should be at least slightly regular  
> Actually the one after this should be about a week, because of exams and all. BUT after that next update, you can expect one every 2-3 days  
> Say hi on tumblr: rhealoveless.tumblr.com
> 
> Please please comment they make my day and honestly it's the reason I write fanfic <3
> 
> ALL RIGHT, PEACE. HAVE A GREAT DAY I LOVE YOU ALL


	4. Chapter 4

He was about 80% sure that he could define the different schools of thought now. Maybe 70%. If someone asked him to define one, he could definitely recite back to them a literal definition, maybe an example or two.  
He was also about 90% sure that if anyone gave him an actual situation, he wouldn’t be able to say which school of thought described it most accurately, and he was definitely sure that he was going to fail this midterm. He wondered if anybody would notice if he started crying in the library. Probably.  
Someone else sat at the table--his table. That was weird, because Feuilly was fairly sure that there were other empty tables. He decided that maybe if he ignored the other person, the other person would ignore him.  
Feuilly pulled his politics textbook off the stack with a small sigh, and flipped open to the dog-eared pages.  
He had been re-reading the highlighted parts for about two minutes when the other person started jiggling their leg. Feuilly glanced up and sighed deeply.  
Enjolras was sitting on the other side of the table, head resting in their hands.  
“I’m fine,” Feuilly hissed, under his breath. “I’m honestly fine.”  
“Courfeyrac says you’ve only been getting a few hours of sleep every night.”  
“He stays up as late as I do.”  
“Yeah,” Enjolras said, “but he also sleeps for like four hours in the middle of the day.”  
“It’s just because of midterms.”  
“You’ve also lost a ton of weight.”  
Feuilly pressed his lips together tightly. “I can take care of myself.”  
“Okay,” Enjolras said, “but that doesn’t mean you are.”  
Feuilly slumped down against the table, no longer angry. Just tired. “You’re not any better.”  
“I try to be. Sometimes my ADD keeps me from sleeping, but at least I always eat.”  
“I just don’t have time.”  
“Study more efficiently. Quit extracurriculars. Take two or three classes instead of four.”  
“Enjolras, I can’t.”  
“Of course you can.”  
“No,” Feuilly said, letting his book fall shut. “I can’t.”  
“Why not? Are you trying to--to prove something to yourself?”  
“No. I have to take four classes if I’m going to graduate in time. If I don’t graduate in time, my scholarships will run out. I can’t quit extracurriculars because I’m literally only in one that is currently the only thing I’m doing for fun, and that would be even worse.”  
“You should have plenty of time for your homework, then.”  
“Yeah, okay, but I have to work six hours every day, and none of this,” Feuilly said, gesturing to the stack of books, “makes any sense.”  
“Talk to the TAs, or the professors.”  
“I’m fine,” Feuilly said, rubbing his eyes. “I just have to work at it a little harder.”  
“First of all, you’re my hero now,” Enjolras answered, standing up. “Second of all, pack up your bag and come with me.”  
“Enjolras, I have to study.”  
“We’re going to.”  
Feuilly was going to ignore them, but they just stood there glaring until Feuilly felt too awkward and guilty to do anything but get up and follow.  
“Where are we going?” he asked once they left the library.  
“My place,” Enjolras answered. “It’s just off of campus, not too far, but also quiet and a place we can actually talk.”  
“I don’t have time to just talk, do you not get that?”  
“You said you were having trouble, right?”  
“So what?”  
“Feuilly, I’m a grad student. I majored in polisci. If you just let me, I can help you, okay? That’s the one you were having troubles with, right?”  
“I don’t need your help,” Feuilly snapped, stopping. Enjolras went a few more paces before turning around, and sighing. “Just--just leave me alone, okay? Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops I kinda wrote this 3 months ago and forgot to add it  
> Thinking about reawakening this fic, really depends on how well I can remember all the characters and figure out what the apparent idea I had for the plot was  
> thanks to Kay for betaing this (though honestly ve probably doesn't even remember ve did so anymore)


End file.
